


Pumpkin Spice

by beckzorz (heckofabecca)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 21:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/beckzorz
Summary: Bucky loves pumpkin spice lattes.





	Pumpkin Spice

“Hm?”

Sleep oozes away as warmth seeps through you. You arch your back, humming, and then every last drop of sleepiness is torn away because that _ mouth_, oh lord, his mouth is on you and you’re burning up.

“_Bucky_,” you moan.

Bucky smiles against your skin, his teeth gently scraping against that spot he knows all too well. “Mornin’, sexy,” he says, and then he’s too busy for words, and you’re too far gone to want them.

* * *

“Fuck fuck fuck!”

You tug on your pants as you hop towards the door. Bucky’s still lounging in bed, as naked as the day he was born and with such a mournful expression that you’re almost—_almost_—tempted to call out sick.

“You know, you’re going to trip and break your leg if you keep up like that,” he says.

You stick out your tongue at him and slip into your shoes as you rush to the bathroom for the quickest toothbrushing in the history of dental care. Seconds later, you pass by the bedroom door, and you have to stop.

There’s Bucky, lying lengthwise on his stomach across the bed so he’s facing the door, chin propped on his hand and his ankles crossed in the air, his ass on _ spectacular _ view. All that glorious muscle, and then that beautiful, gorgeous, resigned face.

Nothing for it: you rush into the room and bend to give him one last kiss, drawing it out for as long as you can. Bucky hums hungrily into your mouth, pushing himself forward, closer to you, rolling on his left side so he can slide his hand around your neck, as desperate as you.

By the time you pull away, you’re half out of breath, and Bucky looks even more forlorn than before.

“A pretty slim reward for a job well done, huh?” he teases sadly.

“Don’t worry, Bucky,” you call as you rush off. “I’ll think of _ some _ way to make it up to you.”

* * *

So maybe you’re a few minutes late to work, but no one quite notices—it happens all the time, really. And if there’s an extra bounce in your step, well, no one quite notices that either.

* * *

The evening air is brisk after a warm afternoon, and your thin cardigan is just shy of warm enough to drive you into a cafe halfway home. The smell is heavenly, and the new autumn flavors make your nose twitch eagerly. Pumpkin spice latte? Yes please. Cinnamon hot chocolate? Don’t mind if you do. One of each, a treat for you and a treat for Bucky. He can pick which one he likes, you decide. You hurry back home, smiling til your cheeks hurt as you think back to the morning.

He can pick. He’s earned it.

* * *

_ Bucky: where u at _

_ You: On my way! With a PSL for ya, or cinn hot choc if you prefer ;) _

* * *

Your keys jangle in the lock, and soon enough you’re inside. You put the drinks down on the counter by the door.

“Hi Bu—mmph!”

Bucky rushes you, cradling your face in his hand as you laugh into his mouth.

“Bucky, what’s all this for? I haven’t even taken my shoes off yet!”

He lets go of your face only to grab the pumpkin spice latte. He pops the lid off and breathes in deep, steam billowing against his contented face.

“You know I love these things.” He takes a gulp, not even wincing from the heat of a steaming drink.

“Well,” you say, trying and failing to contain your smile, “you were a _ wonderfully _ good boy this morning. Figured I’d return the favor.”

Bucky’s bright eyes sparkle at you over the rim of his paper cup. He bumps your toe with his as he guzzles down his latte, giving you ample opportunity to admire the pull of his shirt against his pecs, the strip of skin peeking out at his waist, the slim fit of his jeans. Even his Hawkeye socks.

He finishes the latte in record timing. “_Aah._”

The paper cup sails neatly into the trash as you finally finish toeing off your shoes.

“I was a good boy, wasn’t I,” he says, voice low. The sparkle in his eyes is a definite glint now, and your heart skips a beat as he drinks you in with his eyes as thoroughly as he’d drunk his latte.

“Yes you were,” you murmur.

You pop the top button of your blouse, fingers moving down, down, down as Bucky’s eyes go black with lust. A shrug of your shoulders, and your shirt flutters to the floor.

“And now for the rest of your reward.”

* * *

The next few days are lonely. Bucky’s called off on a mission, one he claims will be short. But short is relative, and you want his company, his conversation, his body. All of him, really, head to toe and every glorious bit in between.

Compared to the others, though, three days is hardly bad. He sends a quick text when he’s an hour away, and your heart races just from the thought of his return. Then your face falls.

Whenever Bucky gets back from missions, he usually collapses straightaway. His missions tend to be longer—a week or two or four—so hopefully he’ll be rested enough to properly _ attend _ to you when he does come home.

You pull on your shoes either way. If he is tired, caffeine will do him good. And a pumpkin spice latte… well, that’ll remind him of how nice it is when _ he’s _ good, whether he needs the caffeine or not.

* * *

Later, when you’re sprawled across his chest, peppering kisses along his neck, both your bodies lax, Bucky clears his throat.

“I think you’re training me,” he says.

“Hm?” You lift your head, push sweaty strands of hair back from his forehead.

“The lattes,” he explains. His eyes twinkle. “Tryin’a trick me into being a good boy for you, huh?”

You blink, all shock, and then you dissolve into laughter, curling your leg around his as you squeeze his waist.

“Can you blame me?” you tease. “Especially when it’s working so darn well.”

Bucky’s hands—he hadn’t had time to take off his metal arm, not when you’d given him such a warm welcome—find their way to your bum.

“No,” he says warmly. He kisses your nose, smiling. “I don’t.”


End file.
